


a shadow benign

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Platonic Roceit, Roceit - Freeform, Sympathetic Deceit, roman stop being lonely challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: Roman had been sitting on the stage for a few hours now.His five-minute escape from the post-video tension had turned into ten minutes, thirty, an hour and many more as he sat on the edge and felt the shadows soothe him, felt the emptiness de-escalate his worries of being the inconsiderate one, the selfish one, the unreasonable one, once again. The entire time, he’d had a slice of his focus settled on the doors, a part of him waiting, hoping, for them to be flung open and reveal one of the other Sides, concern or relief clear on their face as they found him safe again.Hours later, and the doors remained shut tight.And Roman was done waiting.





	a shadow benign

**Author's Note:**

> an anon on tumblr (@coconut-cluster) wanted some sympathetic deceit - i'm not very good at "this is a slightly altered version of canon except deceit is good," so i didn't do that, but i don't think dee has ever been the villain.

Roman had been sitting on the stage for a few hours now.

It had started, hours back, as a five-minute break from the tension of the after-video common area; Logan’s irritated huffs every ten seconds, paired with Patton’s too-happy mediating smiles and Virgil’s tense position on the far seat of the couch had grated on Roman’s nerves, which were already sensitive regardless, so he’d given some rushed excuse and walked out of sight as casually as he could manage before disappearing into the Imagination. He was glad to have met no interrogating questions on his way out - he was less glad to have met no acknowledgement of his leave at all.

When he reappeared on the stage, he’d just sat down on its edge and stared into the empty audience (as best he could, anyway, since only the spotlights were on, and the seats sprawling before him were as distinguishable from the shadows as salt in the ocean, at least in his eyes). It calmed him to be in his element with no pressure to perform. He could sit here, or he could walk across the tape-marked floor, and he could feel the heat of the spotlights and hear the soft thud of his footsteps without analyzing his every move for imperfections - there was no need to be perfect in the presence of shadows.

He wondered, idly and with little fervor, if he could turn the others into shadows for a video. Would that help improve him, or push him farther toward irredeemability? With a sigh and a half-hearted wave of his hand, he pushed the thought from his mind.

He’d been proud of his input to the video today. It was a matter of heart - Thomas’ heart, that is - and Roman had given a rather impressive display of passion and determination, if he did say so himself. Thomas had even looked interested, eyebrows raised as he watched his fanciful side list off various thoughtful gestures and romantic endeavors for optimal wooing (a topic Roman was quite well-versed in), and he actually seemed swayed! For once, Roman’s suggestions had not only helped, but they were appreciated, and he was in the theoretical spotlight with the applause mere moments away-

And then Logan had cut in.

Logan, with his flippant tone and raised eyebrow and talk of common sense and practicality, had sent Roman a reprimanding glance and set to work convincing Thomas to “do something more… appealing” (his mouth puckered a bit at that part, and it was clear that Roman’s ideas served as the comparison). Roman had felt his shoulders fall as he looked wildly between the logical side and Thomas, whose head tilted to the side as he considered the ameliorated plan, and he felt his sway crumbling, crushed to sand when Virgil relaxed and Patton happily complimented Logan’s reformations. The prince had just winced - had his ideas been so bad, so stressful, that they were relieved when they were pushed aside? - and pursed his lips to keep any exacerbating comments from slipping out. He just wanted the video to be done with.

His five-minute escape, then, had turned into ten minutes, thirty, an hour and many more as he sat on the edge and felt the shadows soothe him, felt the emptiness de-escalate his worries of being the inconsiderate one, the selfish one, the unreasonable one, once again.

The entire time, he’d had a slice of his focus settled on the doors, a part of him waiting, hoping, for them to be flung open and reveal one of the other Sides, concern or relief clear on their face as they found him safe again.

Hours later, and the doors remained shut tight.

And Roman was done waiting.  

With a heaving sigh, he pushed off the stage, landing on his feet before the rows and rows of vacant seats that were now clearly visible without the lights blinding his view. He stared at their red upholstery with a furrowed brow - he almost wished they could sense his distaste, if only to give him the satisfaction of being acknowledged. But the chairs remained silent, still, and utterly unfilled. Roman just sniffed.

“Leaving so soon?”

He nearly jumped at the voice - he bit hard enough on his tongue that he tasted blood instead - and whipped around to face the stage again; there, perched on the edge just as the prince had been moments ago and eyeing him calmly, sat Deceit, a single eyebrow raised, as it always seemed to be. He just blinked as Roman sputtered a response.

“Really, Roman, if my outfit is _that_ hideous, you should just say so,” the snake-faced side said finally; Roman’s mouth snapped shut, though the tension in his shoulders dissipated slightly at the quip. 

“I’m not leaving soon,” he responded after another moment of Deceit waiting, fingers curling into his palms as he glanced back at the closed doors. “It’s been a rather long while, actually.” Far too long.

“So why are you just leaving now?”

Roman stared back at last, furrowed his eyebrows a little. “I’m tired.”

It wasn’t a lie, really, and it wasn’t as if the truth wasn’t easily abridged otherwise, but he still felt a scribble of anxiety in his stomach as Deceit seemed to consider the answer. The theater fell silent again while he waited for the verdict.

“Pity,” Deceit said - whether or not he meant the answer or Roman in general, the prince wasn’t sure - and sighed, as if letting out the last of his attentiveness as his eyes scanned the details of the room, head tilted slightly to the side. “I was so hoping to catch you for a discussion about your design techniques.

Roman wasn’t quite sure he’d heard that right. “…deisgn techniques?”

Was it… was that a joke he was missing the context of? Was he supposed to laugh? Perhaps Deceit would laugh at him now, throw his head back and give a good chuckle at the prince’s expense. Yes, that was surely it. He’d see Roman’s puzzled expression and break into laughter at his incompetence, no doubt, as if he had known the prince would fall prey to such a jest. So Roman drew himself up and lifted his chin, bracing for the punchline, mapping his dramatic, carefree exit for immediately afterwards; Deceit might be able to tell and distinguish lies, but acting was Roman’s domain, and how one carried themselves despite their contradictory feelings was a trademark concern of an actor. 

“Yes,” Deceit responded airily, “the attention you pay to your creations in the Imagination is excellent.” Roman blinked at that, his poised facade faltering as he opened his mouth and closed it again. “I haven’t had much practice, mind you, but do you remember that court room? Simply awful lighting,” Deceit continued, nose wrinkled in distaste, “like a high school production of-” He paused as his mismatched eyes flickering to the empty stage he sat on. “Well, a certain Scottish play.” 

Roman let out an involuntary chuckle at the quick save, and Deceit’s tight frown lessened.

“I, uh, do put quite a bit of thought into rooms,” the prince admitted. “But to be fair, the court room was very accurate, so… kudos!” He cleared his throat to give himself more time to think of a response - he still couldn’t quite decide whether or not the snake-faced side was being sincere, and he wasn’t keen on getting beguiled at the moment. “Um, if it helps, though, it’s not usually enough to just imagine lights- picturing the bulb in your mind makes them more stable in the finished product.”

Deceit raised his eyebrows - Roman could hear him hum under his breath. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of that. Literally,” he chuckled, looking quite proud of himself. His eyes found Roman again, and his smile disappeared for a second as he took in the prince’s awkward stance. “You can have a seat, you know. I don’t bite.”

“Oh.” Right. He supposed he had said he was leaving, moments ago, even, but… well, Deceit did seem genuinely interested in his techniques. Who was he to deny a learner? 

He shuffled back to the stage and deftly hopped onto the edge, faced once more with the expanse of the empty audience as he settled into place. It didn’t feel quite so invasive now.

“You’ve improved this place since last time I saw it,” Deceit said calmly - he seemed to say everything calmly, Roman noticed, which was odd, at least considering the thick veneer of charm and its underlayers of desperate anger he exhibited just a few weeks ago in the courtroom - and it took Roman a few seconds to remember Deceit had also been present during Thomas’ lying debacle that they’d tried to examine through theatre. The memory struck a chord of discomfort in Roman’s chest, but then again, mimicking people just seemed to be a habit of Deceit’s at this point. “Did you add a balcony?”

Roman followed his gaze to the seats resting high above the rest, surrounded by railings and an intricate wooden frieze. “Oh! Yes, I had a… free afternoon about a month ago and decided to finally work on it.” (It hadn’t been free until Thomas cancelled a small audition on the other side of town to take a mental health day.) “I was going to add more seats, since there’s only a few dozen up there right now, and the upholstery is a tad darker than the stalls-”

“They’re exceptional, Roman.” 

There was no dazzling lilt to Deceit’s voice, which Roman had gotten used to when the Side addressed him - he still couldn’t decide if he’d been deemed the easiest to manipulate or just a target of chance, but then again, he tried to avoid thinking about it in general, as it always brought the Alfred Hitchcoppalucas callback to the forefront of his mind -  and, as the prince glanced over, Deceit was examining the edge of the stage, eyes flitting between its plain wood and the engraved railings surrounding the balcony.

“Well, thank you,” Roman said finally, facing ahead once more. “I do my best.”

“You haven’t changed the stage.”

His fingers curled around the edge he sat on. It was true: the stage had been the same - plain black floor, marked only by neon tape and the scuff marks of age and use, old red curtains, and scored wooden lip - since he’d first thought it up years and years ago. It’s not as if it never occurred to him to change it, to improve it; it’s just that he’d never really wanted to. Walking across the stage gave him a homely sort of comfort, like if he lost his place anywhere else, he’d still have this pulpit to return to and feel welcomed.

“They do care about you, you know.” 

It seemed Deceit’s turn to stare ahead as Roman blinked at him, eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“The others,” Deceit clarified, still not meeting the creative side’s eyes, “the fam-I-L-Y, I suppose.” He gave a small, dry chuckle and shook his head, before clearing his throat, straightening his spine again. “They’re greviously bad at showing it, clearly, but I’d attribute that to the fact that you all seem to share one brain cell between the four of you.”

Roman’s mouth twitched into a crooked grin. “I think that’d be Logan.”

“You’d be surprised,” Deceit said drily, a single eyebrow quirked. “But that’s beside the point-”

“You don’t have to lie about this, Deceit. I’d prefer to just be in lone uncertainty than have it confirmed, quite honestly.” That’s how his backward statements always worked, right? Opposite meanings, meant to sugarcoat and protect Thomas’ ego. Well, Roman would pass on that today.

Deceit’s even gaze landed on him, careful and unreadable as his fingers laced together in his lap; sitting to the right of the other Side, Roman couldn’t see the scales adorning half his face, and Deceit seemed, for the moment at least, remarkably ingenuous. “I don’t always lie, Roman.”

He couldn’t think of a good response for that, so he just kept his lips pressed tightly together.

“They’re easily preoccupied with their own problems,” Deceit continued casually, “but that doesn’t mean they won’t care about yours. Sometimes you simply have to tell them first.” He gave a pointed look toward the theater doors, which still sat closed, but Roman realized with a start that he’d never thought of leaving them open from the start.

“Since when are you a therapist?” the prince said after a moment of buzzing silence, though his voice lacked any genuine snark.

Deceit just shrugged. “Shockingly enough, I want to help Thomas. We just don’t all go about it the same way.” Before Roman could respond, Deceit prodded him off the stage, nodding to the doors. “They were looking for you before I came. Go, or they’ll find you here eventually, and I’m sure they won’t be happy to see a snake in the theater.”

“You don’t want to come with?”

The laugh he gave was short, amused, but his eyes didn’t meet Roman’s as he shook his head. “Not yet. Let the hero emerge ahead of the villain - it’s better for the theatrics of it all.”

Roman blinked at him. “You’re not a villain,” he said, and he knew it was true. “Maybe an antihero, but you said it yourself, Deceit - we all just want what’s best for Thomas.”

“Pragmatics,” Deceit dismissed, pushing Roman toward the doors again until he actually made his way to them. “It doesn’t matter now. Go, Roman- and maybe leave the doors open on your way out. You’ll need to tell me more about that lighting trick another time, though.”

Roman grinned; as he looked back to respond, he found that even under the stage lights - which were quickly dimming with his departure - Deceit’s black ensemble made him look like a shadow in the distance.

“I will,” he promised, and pulled the doors open, and as he made his way back to the rest of his family, he let them stay that way.


End file.
